At Night
by Itsygo
Summary: Rukia opens the closet door.
1. Chapter 1

At night, when the house was asleep, the orange-haired boy's reiatsu steadied to a slow pulse, I pushed open the closet door, hoping it wouldn't squeak.

He lay on his back, chest barely rising and falling with quiet, almost timid breaths. His face, so ugly with his daytime scowl, was relaxed as though he had, along with his misanthropic image, shed all the worries that had haunted him in his waking hours. Without that frown, he was almost beautiful in his peacefulness.

He was not good looking, not really. His was too skinny for my taste, with an idiotic, glaring hair color and plain brown eyes. On top of that, he was more than a hundred years my junior, and whatever age I may look like, he was still a kid to me, physically as well as mentally. And yet, he awoke in me a longing that not even Renji's muscles or Byakuya's calm beauty could enkindle.

It couldn't be his personality, it just couldn't. He was impossible. He was disdainful of everything, and had to do everything his own goddamn way. He was rude to his father, to his friends, and with fierce enthusiasm, to me. He ridiculed me, treated me like a stupid child. How much of a masochist did I have to be to like this moron of a boy?

But somehow, you couldn't see a shred of his vile disposition as he slept. He looked innocent and defenseless, the contours of his muscles only emphasizing his slenderness. His skin looked milky and smooth; I recalled our handshake, the only time he initiated a touch that wasn't meant to inflict physical damage on me. My fingers had grown cold and clammy, sweating in the sheer realism of Urahara's gigai. I did not need my fake body _that_ lifelike.

Yet Ichigo's fingers had been just as cool. He had made his decision without much reluctance, at least without the amounts of it I would expect, but he had been nervous voicing it, stating it to me and to the world. But his palm had rubbed against mine, mixing out minute droplets of perspiration together, and his contract had been sealed. He was to work with me.

But I wanted more.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes flew open, and I bit my lip, anticipating the expression of terror and revulsion that was customary to virgin boys forced to deal with overtly sexual women. I half expected him to jump up, kicking screaming and furiously asking me what the fuck I was doing on his bed. But he simply stretched, his lithe body escaping the blankets, chest outlined in the moonlight. He wasn't as undeveloped as I had first thought.

"Rukia," he said softly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. He didn't look mad.

Before he could speak again, I got under the covers, curling up against him. His body tensed, heart pounding. I slid my arm across his stomach, flat and hard, willing him to relax. At length, he wrapped his own arm around me, roughly and protectively, like he did everything else.

For minutes, I did not dare move. His heartbeat, although still quite fast, calmed down to a steadier rhythm. His skin, initially cold with nervousness, began regaining its warmth. Sometimes, his hand would rub my arm – unconsciously, I think. I traced my fingers down his midriff, to the thin patch of bare skin between his shirt and boxers. He expelled a shuddering breath at my touch, but did not try to move away.

Encouraged, I let my nail slip under his waistband. The elastic stretched, allowing me the contact with his sweaty flesh. I traveled lower, Ichigo's hand squeezing my bicep painfully. He exhaled; it sounded like a whisper of my name.

I kissed his breastbone reassuringly, his heart fluttering beneath my lips. He let go of my arm and grabbed my neck instead. My hair spilling over his fingers, I lifted up my head, kissing my way from his collarbone to his mouth. His lips were parted and dry, and I met them slowly, probing gingerly with my tongue. Uncertainly, he took my face in his hands and brought me closer, and I reciprocated, temporarily letting go of his private parts.

He opened his mouth into mine, breathing into me, stabbing a pang of desire into my chest. I moaned silently, moving my left leg over him, straddling him. His tongue entered my mouth; there was no technique in his kiss, no experience, but like with his shinigami work, he was a quick learner, and impressive at what he did.

It was with definite regret that I left his mouth, but in order for things to progress, I could not just keep on kissing him for hours. Trailing my fingers down his torso, I reached his hardening cock, and helped it out the hole of his boxers.


	3. Chapter 3

He uttered a long sigh, his fists opening and closing at his sides. I raised my head, releasing him from my mouth – but not my hands – observing his face.

I don't know how I ever thought him ugly. It must be that stupid grimace that he always wore, doubtlessly fantasizing it made him look insurgent and macho. Idiot. He had fine features, gentle even, and with his eyes glazed, half open, unblinking, his parched mouth releasing shallow breaths, he looked delicate, nothing like the intrepid, insolent fighter inside his soul.

I kissed his velvety head, wondering how long he would last. His hips moved. Should I be doing this? My first time had been taken from me because I didn't know how to refuse. Oh yes, I had wanted it, but not like that, not with him kissing me in the moonlight while holding someone else's hand during the day.

No, I may not have been doing the same to Ichigo. But I wasn't giving him a choice either. I did not want him to regret this.

I whispered his name. His hand lifted, fingers brushing my cheek. He stroked my head. The roles had reversed – he was the leader again, the one in charge, the stronger one. The pressure of his palm increased, and he pushed me down, albeit slowly and mildly, onto his cock.

I could hear the air rush through his teeth as he fought to silence his moans. His fingers clutched at my hair, pulling it in a way that caused more pain to my genitalia than to my scalp. The fellating, although fun, could not go on.

It was time for the real thing.


End file.
